


Triumph

by Cris



Series: In The Realm Of The Basses [5]
Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M, limoversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5215256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cris/pseuds/Cris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t want anyone to look at her the way he was looking at her now, unable to avert his eyes from her beauty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triumph

Chuck Bass wasn't known for being a patient man. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted right after he demanded it – or, better, most of the times, he expected people to predict his requests and grant them before he could bother to ask.

The peculiar combination between being used to rule and being rather spoiled had indeed caused him to develop, ever since young age, a deep and passionate aversion to waiting – which was, according to his opinion, one of the many things that made him so successful.

As a consequence, Chuck had grown to consider delay extremely offensive. Although his usually very rigid politeness softened into a certain flexibility when it came to conceding himself the pleasure of being awaited for (he was convinced that being slightly late contributed to adding a further air of importance to his already unapproachable persona), he did not tolerate such a behavior from other people.

This imperative, however, didn't apply to his wife. Blair was, as she was in almost every aspect of his life, an exception. She had always been able to bring out his most tenacious side; she was the one who had taught him the power of perseverance and the one person he didn't mind awaiting. No matter how long, he knew he would have waited for her – and he would have done it with surprising patience.

Usually, at least. In that moment, in fact, Chuck was reconsidering that conviction. It was taking her too long to get ready and he was starting to feel nervous; they were attending Bass Industries 30th anniversary gala and they couldn't be fashionably late. He actually wanted to be there early to be able to go through his speech one last time and make sure that everything had been arranged according to his instructions.

Chuck checked on the time on his vintage _Rolex_ once more and heaved a tensed sigh. There was still plenty of time, he told himself, straightening his already impeccably knotted and centered silk bowtie. He decided to pour himself a drink; enjoying some of the finest scotch would it made it easier to relax, he thought.

Celebrating Bass Industries always left him with mixed feelings; if, on one hand, he loved the thought of being praised for his achievements, on the other hand he couldn't keep himself from wondering if he was doing enough and, most importantly, well enough. Facts and rationality were sometimes weaker than his insecurity.

"Are you angry, dad?" Chuck was halfway to the bar when he heard his four years old son's tiny yet curious voice calling for him. He stopped and turned to see Henry staring at him from behind the backrest of the sofa he was curled up on, eyes narrowed to study his expression.

The corners of his lips tilted up in a smile. His son was incredibly similar to him in various ways, but that immediate perceptiveness and natural empathy were talents he had gotten from Blair.

"No, I'm not angry," Chuck explained, changing direction and crossing the living room to reach the couch instead. The drink he had decided to have was forgotten as he approached a skeptical looking Henry. "I'm just worried we'll be late. Your mom has many delightful qualities, but punctuality is definitely not her strong suit."

Henry eyed him for a moment. "Late for the party I'm not invited to?" he asked, his gaze rapidly shifting to the Lion King picture book opened on his lap. Waiting for the answer, he started leafing through the pages with a dissatisfied pout puckering his lips. He barely glanced up when his father sat down next to him.

Chuck, unbuttoning his black tuxedo jacket, sighed. Henry had spent all day protesting about his parents' decision to leave him at home with his nanny and Chuck felt bad about it to the point that, only a few hours earlier, he had nearly given up and agreed on letting him join them – and he surely would have, if Blair hadn't intervened to put an end to their son's tantrum. "Henry, you know it's not like that," he told him, doing his best not to sound as guilty as he felt. "It's a grown up event. Your mother and I will be very busy talking to many people; you'd get bored."

Henry closed the book. "That's so not true," he affirmed, raising his eyes on his father. "Uncle Nate will be there," he objected, frowning, stubborn about expressing his objections once again. "And grandma Lily and aunt Serena and uncle Jack—"

" _Henry Charles Nathaniel Bass_ ," both Chuck and Henry turned their heads and looked up at the stairs, from where Blair had spoken. "You're not complaining, aren't you?"

Hearing his mother calling him by his full name had been a reason enough for Henry to stop fussing immediately, and Chuck found himself chortling at the thought that he had no chance to be that authoritarian. Two more minutes and Henry would have managed to convince him – again – that he was right.

"I'm not," Henry stated, as he turned back. "But dad is. He said you'll be late for the party because you can't be punctual."

When his son glanced at him, Chuck recognized in his expression the silent request to confirm his version. He smirked and, in response, he winked at him. "It's true," he indeed said, following his wife with his eyes as she came towards them. "Henry was just making a list of all the people we shouldn't keep waiting."

Blair, now standing in front of the sofa, rolled her eyes. It wasn't hard to understand that she didn't believe them, but her smile was the proof that she was determined to let go.

She shook her head and smiled. "We won't keep anyone waiting. As a matter of fact, we are abundantly early," sitting down next to them, Blair wrapped an arm around her husband's shoulders and gently stroked his arm. "Your dad is a bit agitated," she told Henry, although her gaze stayed fixed on Chuck, attentive and tender at the same time. "He shouldn't be, though, because we're celebrating his success tonight and it's something he should enjoy."

A thin smirk rose to Chuck's lips; she always knew what to say and when to. He reached for Blair's hand and, intertwining his fingers into hers in a silent gesture of gratitude, squeezed it lightly.

"Are you really sure I can't come with you?" Henry asked timidly, his eyes lowered. His pleading question trailed off with a small sigh and when, a second later, he looked up at Chuck, he was careful enough to show him the most desolated expression he managed.

A vague air of sadness suddenly darkened Chuck's face and Blair, knowing that it was the prelude to an indulgent answer, stopped him from replying with a warning glance. "Don't try to fool your father with that gloomy look, Hen," she interjected. "We've already discussed this; the party will end too late for you."

Henry huffed. "It's unfair," his begging expression had faded to be replaced by a vexed one, which he emphasized by crossing his arms, "I wanna hear dad's speech!"

"You've already heard his speech plenty of times," Blair said firmly, standing up. Chuck had written it more than a week ago and Henry had been making him repeat it at least twice a day ever since. "We all did," she added, rolling her eyes at a now slightly frowning Chuck. "I'm sure it hasn't changed a bit. I'm going to check if your dinner his ready and then we can go."

Chuck waited for his wife to disappear into the kitchen and then leaned over towards Henry, resting a hand on his pajama covered shoulder. "I'll make sure to have it filmed, so we can watch it together tomorrow," he promised to his sulky son. He reached out to his cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. "I'm sorry about tonight. But your mom is right, Henry; we can't take you with us."

The kid nodded slowly. The look of resignation on his face broke Chuck's heart a little; he hated disappointing him. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and, pulling him closer, he ruffled his hair. "You can ask Miriam for a cup of hot chocolate after dinner," he whispered into Henry's ear and he felt relieved when his son giggled in response. "We won't tell mom."

Blair returned into the room a few seconds later, finding them engaged in a deep conversation. Knowing that her husband had ended up promising something to feel better about leaving Henry at home, she shot them a suspicious look, which would have led to a consecutive question if she hadn't met Chuck's gaze. His stare was silently asking her to pretend she hadn't noticed anything, so she limited herself to let out an unusually compliant sigh; she didn't have the heart to ruin that moment.

Ten minutes later they had said goodbye to their son and were ready to leave. Chuck, finally able to look upon his wife without distractions, let his eyes go back up her figure as he adjusted his coat, taking in every detail of her attire.

He knew the dress she was wearing very well, for the simple fact that he had purchased it for her. It was an _Oscar de la Renta_ floor-sweeping gown that had been custom made appositely for this occasion, other than one of her birthday gifts – just one of the presents he used to give her during the month preceding her actual birthday, which was in a week.

Blair looked beyond fabulous wrapped in that violet silk organza and dark purple tulle, and Chuck, stunned by his natural elegance and gracious sensuality, was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of jealousy. He knew he would have had just a little time to spend with her that night and the thought of sharing her with a crowded room deeply disturbed him; he didn't want anyone to look at her the way he was looking at her now, unable to avert his eyes from her beauty.

He rapidly paced towards her and embraced her from behind, his arms tight around her waist.

When Blair glanced over her shoulder to give him a quizzical look, Chuck smirked. "You're too beautiful," he affirmed to explain the abrupt hug and the way he was still squeezing her hips. "I want you all for myself."

Blair, lightly shaking her head, giggled. She reached out cupping his cheek and silenced him with a brief kiss. "You know I am already yours," she said and Chuck's smirk became sharper when he noticed her playful expression; she was enjoying his jealousy. "There's no need to be so possessive."

There was, Chuck mentally contradicted her. She would have drawn everyone's attention and the idea forced to tighten his hold on her, which made Blair laugh softly again, pleased and amused in equal measure. Still, aware that they had to leave, he didn't reply. He took the coat still folded on her arm and, chivalrously, he helped her to put it on. It was going to be a long night, he thought, as, arm in arm, they walked out of the townhouse to the limousine waiting for them in front of the building.

* * *

"It's very rude not to pay attention to your interlocutor, nephew," Jack's ironic and always vaguely tinged with boredom voice reached Chuck's ears weak and distant as an echo, although his uncle was sitting just besides him. The words, however, failed to make him look away from the dance floor of the Palace Hotel's ballroom, which he had been staring at over the last couple of minutes, narrowed eyes and a deeply alert frown.

There, stunning in her lavish gown, Blair was dancing with Brian Richards, one Chuck's business associates. She seemed to be having fun, he detected with a pinch of peeve; she had a thrilled expression as she let the man lead her to the sound of a whirling Viennese waltz.

Chuck already disliked Richards for a fair number of reasons – a certain insufferable arrogance combined with a not particularly bright mind above all – but, at the moment, what bothered him the most about him was the fact that he was making his wife twirl across his dance floor at his party.

Chuck hadn't been able to prevent it from happening. He had watched the man asking Blair for a dance from the other side of the room, as he tried to come back to their table after his speech, making his way through people who wanted to shake his hand and congratulate him. When he had finally managed to, Blair, as well-mannered as she was, had already accepted the offer, leaving him to sit there with the only company of his uncle.

"I may deduce from your distraction that you don't care about my compliments," Jack concluded, forcing Chuck to give him some consideration. He had been accused of many things in his life, rightfully so or not, but discourtesy was something he had rarely been guilty of.

"I'm glad that you enjoyed the speech," he, therefore replied, letting the older man know he had listened to what he had said; his gaze, thought, stayed fixed on Blair and her dancing partner. "You're welcome, by the way. I'm aware that expressing gratitude is though on your ego, so I'll spare you the effort of thanking me for mentioning you."

The tone of the answer, in spite of the witty, self-satisfied words, didn't turn out as smug as it was intended to be. Chuck had spoken slowly and absent-mindedly, and his unusual lack of interest showing superiority didn't go unnoticed.

Jack, in fact, caught it immediately. "Please," he snorted. "You're too preoccupied with the fact that your wife has found someone to dance with to appreciate my attempt to say something nice."

The sardonic remark managed to make Chuck shift his eyes from the center of the oval-shaped room and turn his head in time to see a sneering smirk appear on his uncle's face. "Who Blair chooses to dance with does not concern you," he said, sharp and rigid as his expression. "She's enjoying the party; you should probably find a socialite to entertain and do the same."

"Believe me," Jack, visibly amused, snickered, "watching you wallowing in your jealousy is much more fun."

Chuck silently glared at him over his drink – a flute of bland Champagne, that he would have gladly replaced with a stronger, definitely more pleasant glass single-malt.

The only thing that stopped him from demanding a waiter to bring him one was the end of the song. Chuck welcomed it with a smirk. "Well, you'll have to find another way to amuse yourself, Jack," he told his uncle, before draining his Champagne in one gulp.

He didn't give him a chance to reply; he quickly stood up and, adjusting his jacket as he turned, he started pacing to the dance floor where his wife stood, impatient, to use an euphemism, to join her before anyone else could ask her to dance.

He was supposed to be talking to his guests, he knew it, but he couldn't stand the thought of seeing another man's hand touching her waist. The mere idea of witnessing another similar scene made his lips purse and his steps become faster. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, trapping her in the tightest embrace, and kiss her deeply in front of everyone, to show them that they couldn't have her, because he was the one she belonged to. At the same time, an opposite but equally powerful need was rapidly driving him towards her. He wanted to hide her; he wanted to take her home, away from all these people's eyes, and make love to her.

When Chuck, a bit breathless despite his always composed posture, reached her, Blair was smiling at something Richards had said. They both seemed to be unaware of his presence. He nervously clenched his jaw and cleared his throat to announce himself.

Blair immediately turned. "Chuck," she beamed at him and moved to his side, sliding an arm through his. "Mr. Richards was just talking about you," she said cheerfully.

Chuck eyed her for a second. He couldn't quite decipher her expression; there was something shady and mysterious in her gracious smile and her cheeks were a little flushed.

"It's true, Mr. Bass," Chuck reluctantly diverted his narrowed eyes from his wife to bring them on the man standing in front of him. If he hadn't been too focused on the many ways this circumstance was bothering him, he would have surely appreciated the way the guy had slightly bowed his head in an unconscious sign of reverence and uneasiness. "Beautiful speech," he outstretched his arm, waiting for Chuck to shake his hand, "I don't find it hard believing that your wife is such an inspiration for you," he said, talking about the way Chuck had thanked his family and especially Blair for supporting him. "She's truly a marvel."

"Thank you," Chuck shook the man's hand firmly – maybe a tad too firmly . "She is indeed," he slid an arm around Blair's waist. "And, as you've probably noticed, an excellent dancer."

He pulled her closer, his palm lightly squeezing her side, hoping that she would have understood the subtext in his words; he was the one she was supposed to dance with and he fully expected her to ask him to lead her through the next song.

But Blair didn't. Instead, she grinned at the man. "Not as good as you, Brian," she said in a tone that, to Chuck's ears, sounded rather coquettish; he hated the fact that she had called him by his name. "I would love to dance again."

Feeling her freeing herself from his hold, Chuck couldn't help but frowning. Taken aback by her unpredicted answer and behavior, though, he didn't do anything to hold her when she decided to move a step away from him.

"With pleasure, Mrs. Bass," Richards replied. "If Mr. Bass has no objections, of course," he added, glancing at Chuck with an unsure expression.

At that point, obligated by etiquette and by the context, Chuck couldn't do anything but force a smile. "Not at all," he said, although he was sure that his wife had understood by the cold tone of his voice that he did have objections – and many. "Enjoy then," he told her, leaning down to place a brief kiss on her cheek. "I'll be at the table."

Blair nodded and smiled at him, which, if possible, managed to insult Chuck even more; either she hadn't noticed the disappointment in his eyes, or she had spotted it but still decided to ignore it. He left the dance floor feeling both hurt and disrespected.

* * *

By the time they left the party, Chuck had spent enough time pondering over what had happened that the hurt and the feeling of disrespect had ended up merging and turning into cold, passive anger.

The ride home was spent almost completely in silence. Blair made a couple of comments about the party, to which Chuck answered in monosyllables, staring out of the car window. He felt her gaze fixed on him, as if she was trying to study him and give a meaning to his detached quietness, but he obstinately refused to turn his head and meet it.

His instinct would have led him to look at her, but his pride, always powerful and stubborn, kept him from doing or saying anything clear to show her that he was upset. He was – and, in spite of his silence and stillness, not so patiently – waiting for her to understand what was bothering him without giving her any clues.

It wasn't until they were home that, as he opened the hall closet to grab a hanger and put away his coat, he spoke to her. "I'm going to check on Henry," he said in a low, flat voice, and started walking to the stairs. Aware that she was still scrutinizing him, he rapidly climbed them, leaving her behind to lock the front door and dismiss their son's nanny.

Henry was soundly asleep when Chuck arrived to his room, which made him smile tenderly. He stared at him from the doorway for a few seconds before entering. He did what he used to do every time he got home when the kid was already sleeping; he silently stepped to the bed and then sat on its edge by his side, leaning down to place a delicate kiss on his forehead.

For a moment, while, careful not to wake him, he delicately stroked Henry's hair, anger and offence were gone; he had left them out the door that he had half closed, seeking for an intimate moment with his son. Just staring at him gave him an immense sense of peace.

Chuck didn't want to let that serenity go. Facing Blair was, at the same time, a tempting and frustrating prospect; he wanted an explanation but he also wanted to avoid her reaction. He had a feeling that, becoming conscious of the cause behind his nervousness, she would have accused him of being unreasonable.

Putting aside his pride, he knew that his annoyance was probably exaggerated and not completely lucid. Blair was a courteous lady and she knew how to behave at an event; ignoring the guests and refusing to socialize was impolite. He would have never questioned her faithfulness and devotion, not for real. Still, as the jealous person he admitted to be, he hated sharing her attention and, sometimes, he couldn't help but taking offence even at shallow things, such as watching her dance with someone else.

It took him several minutes to decide to leave Henry's room and head to the master bedroom. When he finally did, he found her sitting at her vanity set and realized that he must have spent more time staring at his son than he had thought; Blair had already changed into her pale ivory silk robe, removed her make-up and undid the chignon her hair had been gathered into all night. Dark chocolate curls fell now loosen on her shoulders.

Looking her and remembering how effortlessly she had ignored him a few hours ago, Chuck felt another surge irrational jealousy. He had to take a deep breath to stop himself from rushing over her and take her in his arms, possessively, just to tell her in an impulsive gesture that she was his. Instead, he put all of his unexpressed ardor into untying his bowtie and tossing it onto the bed bench.

Blair, furrowed eyebrows, eyed him from the mirror's reflection. "I thought you had fallen asleep there," she said, referring to the fact that it sometimes happened. Her voice was casual and calm in spite of the suspicious way she was gazing at him. "I was about to come to call you."

Chuck shrugged. "I must have lost the sense of time," he commented coldly.

When she stood up and moved a step towards the spot where he was still standing, unbuttoning his shirt, Chuck spun around and hurriedly crossed the room to the other side, before disappearing into his walk-in closet. He didn't come back into the bedroom until an half hour later, after having showered and changed into a comfortable pajama.

Blair was waiting for him, sitting on the bed. Something in the way she was looking at him, without any signs of uncertainties in her expression, told him that she had understood. His thoughts found a confirm a few seconds later, when she smiled at him – a somewhat provoking smile. "It's been a great party, don't you think?" she commented. "I really enjoyed myself. "

Chuck stiffened. "You surely did," he hissed, his tone reaching its lowest pitch.

The words, which were meant to be an accusation, didn't make Blair's smirk fade. It became mischievous instead, in a way that caused him frown. She was deliberately mocking him, perfectly aware of his jealously and, he detected with indignation, absolutely not interested into making him feel better. "It's so hard to find a good dancing partner," she sighed, "I suppose I was lucky."

Unconsciously, Chuck had stepped over her side of the bed as she had spoken. He pursed his lips, trying to contain himself; his hands were shaking, longing to touch her, and he couldn't bring himself to look away from her, anger slowly drifted into lust. "I didn't know you were so easy to please," he said, his words barely louder than a whisper.

Blair lifted herself up a bit more, her back sliding on the pillows she had placed against the headboard, and, instinctively, Chuck leaned down. Their faces were now separated by only a few inches. "I didn't know it was so easy to make you jealous," she replied.

It was then Chuck noticed what his blinding jealously had kept him from seeing till that moment: her face was glowing with triumph. It was vibrant, clear in her eager eyes. Her fingers suddenly curled around the collar of his pajama, clinging and pulling him down with her, and Chuck found himself on the top of her before he had the time to realize what he was doing.

"You did it on purpose," he murmured against her slightly parted lips, as his hands slowly made their way along her sides. Her back arched in response to the touch; Chuck sensed her muscles tensing as his palms inched on her bare skin, under the light night-gown. "You wanted this."

For the split of a second, Chuck thought that he didn't want to give her this satisfaction; she had toyed with him and kept him from enjoying what was supposed to be his night.

But then Blair closed her eyes, and, holding her breath, she grasped his hair. "Show me I'm yours," she murmured, a gasping, almost begging request that convinced Chuck that there was no way he could have resisted her. He had never been good at denying her what she wanted.

So he did as she had asked, wondering that, sometimes, surrendering was as sweet as winning.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] Written for Chuck and Blair’s 8th Limoversary, although I didn’t manage to finish it in time. I was inspired by the prompt word “triumph”. I wish all my readers a very happy Limoversary, despite the delay! As usual, feel free to contact me if you have any questions.
> 
> [2] I took episode 2X10, “Bonfire Of The Vanity”, as reference. In the episode, Chuck mentions that it’s Bass Industries 20th anniversary – in the episode it’s also mentioned that Blair’s birthday is in a week from this day. The fanfiction is set 10 years later, ergo in 2018, an year after the flash-forward of the last episode. I know there are speculations about Henry’s age, but I’m one of those who think that he was 3 at the end of episode 6X10, and that’s why he’s 4 in this fanfiction. 
> 
> [3] Other details: In my headcanon Henry has two middle names, Charles and Nathaniel. It’s one of my favorite headcanons! Also, if you’re curious, you can see Blair’s dress here: http://www.net-a-porter.com/it/en/product/600940/oscar_de_la_renta/embellished-floral-appliqued-tulle-and-silk-organza-strapless-gown It’s from this year’s collection, but I couldn’t help but picking it. We all know that our dear Chuck loves purple and he’d definitely love to see his wife wearing something like this – and have it custom made, of course, because he’s Chuck Bass! 
> 
> [4] English is not my first language, I’m Italian. I apologize for possible mistakes. 
> 
> [5] As usual, a big thank you to my lovely Daphne (WeirdDaph on twitter) for correcting it and being very supportive.


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